Two days later, Kid Curry was lounging on a wooden bench across the road from the train depot in Red Hill. He'd arrived in town the night before and, thanks to the Bridgerton School Board, was well rested and comfortably full of pancakes and bacon, two tickets for the stage coach ride to Bridgerton tucked into his breast pocket. The train was due into the station in 30 minutes, so the Kid took the opportunity to tip his hat over his face and doze until he heard the whistle in the distance. As he rose from the bench and stretched his back, the train chugged into the station amid a cloud of steam. A flurry of folks thronged about, some ready to greet the passengers as they disembarked, and others waiting to board the train for its return trip to Denver. Curry scanned the crowd and quickly spotted his charge. Although there were several young ladies around the correct age, there was only one that was traveling solo. She was not completely alone, however. A porter was pushing a cart piled with trunks and valises and the young woman was stepping along behind him, practically running to keep up with the porter's long strides. She was looking all around with curiosity and excitement on a face that Kid immediately decided was a shame to waste on a schoolmarm. She was quite diminutive, reminding him of his and Heyes' good friend Clementine. Like Clem, Amanda Grady had a perfect yet petite figure. Kid reckoned he could span her tiny waist with his two hands. Unlike Clem, however, Miss Grady seemed oblivious to the effect she had on men, many of whom were doing double-takes or simply staring overtly at her.
Curry rose from the bench and headed in her direction, reaching her just as the porter pulled the last trunk from the cart and added it to the large pile he had assembled on the boardwalk. The girl fumbled in her purse for a coin which she placed into his hand, thanking him with a dazzling smile that the porter seemed to appreciate more than the tip.
Curry tugged at his hat and addressed her, "Howdy, Miss Grady. Name's Thaddeus Jones. The Bridgerton School Board sent me to escort ya the rest of the way to Bridgerton."
The young teacher turned, a pair of sparkling hazel eyes fringed by thick lashes looking at him curiously.
"How did you know who I am, Mr. Jones?" she asked, reaching out her gloved hand to clasp his.
"Lucky guess," the Kid answered laconically. Then he turned to survey the pile next to them.
"This all yours?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, then amended, "well, not all of it is mine personally. Most of it is books. For the school. The Board wired money for me to purchase books and other materials back in Normal to bring along with me."
Kid nodded and said, "Stage leaves at ten. I've got our tickets already." He shouldered the nearest trunk, wishing the porter had left him the use of the cart to tote the luggage over to the stage coach office. Amanda Grady, already holding a carpet bag over her arm, reached down and picked up two valises and began to struggle after him. Curry stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.
"What do you think you're doin?" he demanded.
"Helping you carry my luggage to the stage coach office, what does it look like I'm doing?"
"Oh no you don't, ma'am. My ma would go spinnin' in her grave if she knew I let a lady carry anything heavier than a thimble when I was around to do it for her."
Miss Grady began to protest, but the Kid would have none of it. "You sit right there," he instructed, pointing to the nearest bench. "It'll take me three trips and then we'll have just enough time to grab a bite before we board the stage."
"If I help you, it will only take two trips," she insisted.
"Sit," he commanded.
The Kid had already eaten breakfast and Miss Grady said she wasn't hungry, but Curry suspected the young schoolteacher was trying to conserve her limited funds.
"On me," he offered, then amended, "well, actually on Bridgerton. They gave me money for meals and tickets and what have you. It'll be a long ride 'til we stop for dinner."
The young woman brightened and replied, "Oh, I suppose I could manage to eat a little something."
Curry ordered two coffees and a breakfast special – steak, eggs, biscuits, and stewed tomatoes. Miss Grady dug in hungrily, but lost steam when she was about halfway done. Kid gallantly offered to finish the meal for her and she pushed her plate across the table.
As he chewed, she examined the wildflowers in the cut-glass vase at the center of the table. "We don't have these back home. What are they?" she asked.
"Columbine," her dining companion replied around a mouthful of steak.
Amanda pulled a small sketch book and a charcoal pencil from her carpet bag and with deft strokes began to sketch one of the blue and lavender flowers. She used what looked to the Kid like colored chalk to shade in the soft pastel colors. He watched her work in fascination.
"Hey, that's real good. What else can ya draw? … People?" he ventured cautiously. To his relief she replied, "Just flowers and insects mostly. I'm no good at faces."
The ticketed passengers were milling about in front of the stage coach office as the driver strapped the luggage to the back and roof of the vehicle. Most of it was the schoolteacher's and she looked stricken that he was going to so much trouble on her account. Her escort, Mr. Jones, assisted by handing items up to him.
As Curry helped the driver load, he surreptitiously examined the other passengers. There was an elderly lady with a pruney face whose expression looked to Kid like she'd been sucking on lemons. She was dressed all in black, in the latest of fashions from about 20 years previously. She seemed to be traveling with the middle-aged man in a suit and derby hat. Her son, Kid inferred, comparing the sharply aquiline noses both sported and noting the deferential way he spoke to her. Mama's Boy, he thought with a slight smirk. There was also an older, distinguished-looking gentleman holding the hand of a little boy about 7 years of age, who was wearing short pants and constantly asking questions: "Grandpop, what's that? Grandpop, why is…? Grandpop, how come…?" 'Grandpop' was patiently answering each question, clearly fond of the little tyke. The final passenger was a drummer – a traveling salesman. Kid could tell by his cheap suit, his large sample case, and his broad, phony smile. Just a legal way to con folks, he had opined to Heyes more than once. Not that he was opposed to a good con job, but even in their heyday, he and Heyes would never have conned ordinary folks, like most drummers preyed upon. Their victims were always rich and crooked themselves. This fellow was young, about his own age, and Curry took an immediate dislike to him.
Once the driver was satisfied that his load was secure, he hopped down to the street and surveyed the group of waiting passengers. "Stage is built for six," he pronounced. "Someone's gotta ride up top with me." He glanced at the Kid, the obvious candidate, with eyebrows raised in a question.
"Oh, can I?" gasped the schoolteacher, surprising everyone present and apparently giving the old lady quite a shock.
"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. The grandfather looked amused and the coach driver chuckled.
"I'll be riding up top," Curry said firmly. "That way I can keep a look out for trouble."
Miss Grady looked embarrassed at the reactions to her impulsive offer. She really would have been thrilled to ride on top, wind blowing through her hair, the blue sky above, but she now inferred by the others' responses that this was something a proper lady just didn't do.